Seasons of Love
by Jane-Liebling
Summary: This story, like many of its kind, began in reality; but this particular story, unlike most, was not completely fabricated. It wasn't something a Calormen poet had written, or song arranged by a loyal Dryad, but rather a simple and utterly known fact.


**A/N** Yes this is cliche, but it was fun to write and hopefully fun to read. Enjoy :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Narnia or any of the Pevensies.

This story, like many of its kind, began in reality; but this particular story, unlike most, was not completely fabricated. It wasn't something a Calormen poet had written, or song arranged by a loyal Dryad, but rather a simple and utterly known fact. A fact that formed itself into a tale told at gatherings. A statement with which analogies were made in wedding speeches. Even occasionally a bed time story. This fact was simply that each of their loves was like the four seasons.

Lucy's adventure in love, though it may seem strange, resembled the season of winter. Her courtship, engagement and eventual marriage were all as pure as the white snow that is so prevalent during the season. None of the frostiness associated with it, but with all and more of the gaiety and bustle and steaming cups of hot cocoa. Every bit of the love and warmth of an evening spent huddled by the fire side. It was a cozy thing, a haven if she needed it; and also a cause for jubilation when any other cause was in short supply.

Edmund's love was new and shy like the first buds of spring. The season where lessons are learned and things are began. And nobody understood new beginnings like Edmund. Having gone through a previous transformation, he was mentally prepared and ready for this new experience called love. Or so he thought. For love is a strange thing and can make people act in a different manner than their norm. From tripping over his own feet to simply falling over his own words- something he never did- to blushing a shade of pink that would put any chrysanthemum to shame. Each of these new sensations steeled and prepared him to humbly, and, though it did not show, rather confidently propose marriage to his love. And then, rather obviously, breathe a sigh of relief.

Peter's love was as strong and sweet as a summer night. The constant hum of fire flies, a comforting background. It was not a rushed affair. It was slow and sleepy, like the day after a large celebration. He allowed himself to take his time and enjoy every part of it. From their mutual friendship slowly shifting slightly. Through their casual courtship and effortless engagement. To their marriage, which was, unfortunately for him, a rather large affair. Aside from that deviation, it was the one aspect of his life where he could take things easy. There was no stress, just love and warmth. He didn't have to be a king or a big brother or a knight. Simply Peter. And though he normally did not condone un-kingly habits, in this instance he allowed himself to be happily lazy and enjoy himself.

Susan's love was reminiscent of autumn. It has oft been said that although winter snow is lovely, spring rather exciting and the summer heat endearing, that fall is the most beautiful. And that is exactly what her love was, beautiful and calm. Ever changing, and yet ever present. A peaceful safe place where, after a long or stressful day, she could regain the serenity she was renowned for. It was a mature understanding of both persons, with an unexpected underlying passion few people ever saw. Few people, in fact, were even aware of its existence. But she knew. She always knew, and she always felt it. It was ultimately this feeling that she was unable to smother that brought her back home, to her rightful place. It was because of this unassuming love that Susan remembered.

And so it was that in the winter, many an innocent by stander had been hit by a stray snowball from an overzealous pair of sweethearts. And in the spring, a servant running errands may have spied, through a passing window, a young king and his companion on a stroll through blooming gardens. Or on a hot summer's day a courtier with a notee for the High King would find him and his consort lounging about the grounds and presently sneak back inside with out delivering his message. Or on crisp fall evenings Dryads and nymphs and all sorts of woodland Animals would respectfully scurry away from a young couple on their customary walks through an autumn wood.

It was through these, and many other encounters, that this unusually true story found its beginnings.


End file.
